


You're The One: 3 Times Clarke Thought Lexa Was Proposing, One Time She Did, And One Time She Said Yes

by Lyssicole



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Slow Burn, but lots of emotions in between
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssicole/pseuds/Lyssicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Clarke never had to leave Polis because there was no blockade? Would she still stay? Basically set approximately around the time of Lexa's duel with Roan--but the nightgown scene has still occurred in this fic. Skaikru has never rejected the Coalition, and therefore Clarke is still Ambassador. My goal for this story is to highlight the evolution of Clarke and Lexa's relationship. However, that does not mean there's not still appearances from much loved characters who help progress the story. We will see how Anya has influenced Lexa, how Octavia progresses in the world of Grounders, and basically just a good old pairing between Raven and happiness. Although you can tell by the title that this is clearly a story with a happy ending, it still could be considered slow burn, at least in the physical sense. Since Clarke never had to say goodbye (at least, not in a dramatic way), Clarke and Lexa still haven't had sex...but of course that could change;) Most likely 5 chapters, updates will vary. Lots of happiness, lots of analysis of the inner workings of these women's minds, and a little angst. It's good for you, doctor says!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're The One: 3 Times Clarke Thought Lexa Was Proposing, One Time She Did, And One Time She Said Yes

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! I am a huge Clexa fan and also a very passionate writer, but this is actually my first time writing a fic. I am very excited for the course this story will take, and although I have a plan, part of my writing process is that I let my work twist and turn as it wishes (but it won't find its way to any super dark places, I promise). That being said, I would love your feedback. Your voices will most certainly be heard in the progression of this story: if there is something you want, speak up! Your questions are also super helpful to inspire me, so please don't be shy. It will be your feedback that keeps me writing, so I am really hoping for it. Anyway, hope everyone is okay after the terror that was 3.07: I am hoping to honor these incredible ladies, their intoxicating chemistry, and their evocative relationship. After all, thats what they (and we) deserve! Happy reading:)

Chapter 1:

“You don’t have to keep doing this Clarke,” Lexa says, and she’s got a voice that sounds like high tide on the warmest day of the year with words like a message in a bottle that Clarke would tread through riptides to hear and so Clarke thinks she would gladly stop doing whatever it is Lexa is talking about, even if she doesn’t yet know what exactly it is. Clarke is stubborn, assertive, she possesses the depth of tree roots that find solstice miles underground, but Lexa is patient, contemplative, she demands the wisdom of constellations up above in the night sky. Both of them remind the other of their origins, and perhaps that is why it is so difficult for them to ricochet from one home to the other, with no place quite in common. There has to be somewhere the sky meets the ground, somewhere neither Clarke nor Lexa is more adept to their home than the other. Of course, no matter where they are with each other will be home. So, standing there at Mount Weather, the very place Lexa walked away the first time after a million occasions of stepping closer, a thousand magnetic shifts in conversations, a hundred instances of unwavering eye contact, it couldn’t be stranger that Clarke feels so very safe.

“Do what?” Clarke asks, and the subtle alarm of anticipation in Lexa’s eyes makes Clarke step a little closer, despite the Commander’s guards stoically stationed near, planted steadily while Ambassadors, other Grounders, and some of Skaikru sort through the rubble in the hopes of erecting a place for all 13 clans to meet outside of Polis, somewhere that Clarke and Lexa could work alongside each other and contain their affections for one another in knowing glances during meetings, the looks that say, “I respect you and therefore I will hear you out through anything you may say, and I will continue to care for you no matter what that is.” Clarke tilts her head as she instinctually reaches for Lexa’s hand, not quite grasping it, as the Commander has stiffened. “What?” Clarke repeats, “Lexa…” eyes of rivers stare into eyes of trees, the distinction in color the only exception to their incredible unity, “What is it?”

Lexa is not wearing war paint today, and so when she blinks, Clarke can revel in the contrast of the darkness of her eyelashes against the lightness of her skin. Lexa is always so vulnerable when she tries not to be weak. She is enduring and she is selfless, but Clarke is inquisitive and receptive, so she knows Lexa must have something important to say. “If this is about me remaining Ambassador, I assure you I represent Skaikru based on more than just convenience. I always try to think in my people’s best interest while honoring—“

“I know,” Lexa interjects, surprising even herself. She is so careful to never interrupt Clarke, and the breath she has been holding comes tumbling out. She tightens her hands clasped behind her back, trying to rid herself of the tension. She only feels it festering deeper, far beneath her skin. “I’m sorry, Clarke” she adds, at a near whisper, “It was not my intention to speak before you had finished.”

Clarke watches as Lexa’s mouth clutches into a tight line, and it takes all her strength not to offer a gentle kiss at the corner of Lexa’s mouth like a promise, like an acceptance to the apology, like a reminder that Lexa never needs to say sorry. Not again. Instead: “Lexa. Tell me.”

Lexa returns Clarke’s earlier attempt, moving closer by about half an inch, but for Lexa this is a big step. She is so cautious of Clarke’s boundaries that even this seems bold from someone who has also ordered numerous deaths, killed her own advisor, and gripped the blade of a sword with her bare hand. Clarke thinks that maybe all those things were just what Lexa as Commander had to do, but this is something Lexa, the Lexa who lets Clarke coax her to smile or who will study Clarke’s artwork like it is the most exquisite masterpiece, wants to. “There is no need to spend time apart, Clarke,” Lexa begins slowly, as if she is reciting a speech she has practiced many times before. “I said to you the first time we were here at Mount Weather that visiting Polis would change the way you think about us.” Clarke’s heart pounds as if she is running faster and further than ever before, but all she wants is to stay planted in this moment here with Lexa, closer. What is it that Lexa is asking her? “Clarke,” Lexa continues, saying her name as if it is a shooting star that falls as gracefully as a leaf from any of the trees they sometimes sit by together, “Stay in Polis. Don’t act as if you need a separate room or as if there are issues in Arkadia you must leave alone to tend to. You will see so much more, just by staying.”

Clarke has seen the way Lexa’s hair looks without the intricate braids, how it falls over her shoulders and tickles Clarke’s nose, she has felt the way Lexa exhales when she thinks Clarke isn’t listening, how Lexa sharply breathes in when she knows Clarke is. She has stood, dumbfounded but never out of place as Lexa loses herself in her lessons with the Nightbloods, balancing sternness with wit, wisdom with playfulness. She has laughed when Lexa has dramatically scolded a servant at dinner for forgetting to bring Clarke a knife, half growling-half smiling something about how she thought she’d have to pass Clarke her dagger, all the while Clarke can’t listen to her stomach rumbling because she is so content with seeing how Lexa seems to be so uncharacteristically relaxed in somewhere she calls home.

Lexa has been glad to have time to be at Polis while the previously brewing war has subsided and the clans have settled back into peaceful agreement. But Lexa, she could never really call Polis her home. When training as a Nightblood, it just seemed sort of like a city she hadn’t had enough time to explore; although she wanted to experience its public attractions and its secret hiding places. It wasn’t until Clarke joined her there that she began to see the city in a whole new light, even in the dark of her room because then Clarke’s arms were wrapped around her and she had never seen anything clearer than the speckles of multicolored orbs as she fell asleep to Clarke’s breath against her neck, painting gentle dreams before she had even lost herself in another state of consciousness. As Commander, she was always in some tent or another stationed at one of the clans, there to rally armies or to firm up agreements due to her very novel forge of the coalition. The truth was, Lexa never felt safe. She always had the notion she would be injured by mistake, subject to severe illness, or betrayed. She would die young after her worthy accomplishments and they would be her legacy. She never thought her legacy could be paintbrush dreams on canvases she had found for someone with golden hair and turquoise eyes, she never thought works of art could be fingertips tracing down her spine, bringing to life every nerve of her being, every aspiration of her living. The truth was, Lexa had never relaxed in Polis—had never called it her home—until Clarke arrived. And with every meeting or visit back to her own people, Clarke was unknowingly taking some of Lexa’s security and peace of mind with her. Of course, Lexa would never ask for it back. Instead, she would just ask for Clarke to stay, because with Clarke beside her, for the first time, she felt proud of what she had done. She didn’t know why, but Clarke’s eyes mirrored all she strived for, Clarke’s always confident posture and yet curious eyes made Lexa feel like she was not just ruling or leading but living.

“Commander,” Clarke interjects, and it’s the way it comes out heavy instead of like a prick to the skin, so delicate and yet so centered around how to appeal to her senses, that Lexa knows they are being interrupted. She averts her eyes from the place the almost set sun has taken to settling on Clarke’s neck, making her skin appear even more illuminating, and to the Grounder now noticeably closer. Lexa was observant, she was trained in heightened aware. Yet, this guard of hers could have for some reason held a knife to her throat and she would still be blissfully noting the way Clarke’s eyes sparkled upon her invitation, her breath stolen not by the ominous hint of death by the knife at her neck but instead the lilt in Clarke’s voice, the wind stirring the scent of her hair, Clarke’s subtle shifts in posture a window into her vast and brilliant mind that Lexa so desperately wanted to explore.

Lexa raised her eyebrows just a bit, prompting the Grounder’s brief response, “Night fall is soon, Heda. Should we stop for the day, and at the sun’s rising journey back?”

Lexa nods once, curtly. “Thank you, Hakeef. You and the others will depart for Mount Weather at the first songbird’s call. I will not be returning tomorrow.”

“Yes, Heda,” Hakeef bows his head, turning to relay the message. Clarke waits until he is out of ear shot before cocking her head, confused.

“Where will you be?’ she asks, “I don’t recall you mentioning any other meetings.”

“I would like to be with you,” Lexa says quickly before she can lose the courage to; although, coming from her, the words still sound deliberate and well-pronounced and slow. Clarke’s lips part, and for a moment, Lexa too thinks about what may happen if she kissed her right now, in the presence of others. She doesn’t have much time to consider it, because Clarke speaks first.

“I’m with you almost every night, Lexa.” There is an unintended sultry tone to the words. Clarke doesn’t try to take it back. Lexa doesn’t try to ignore it. “Is this something different? Is this…” Clarke trails off. Had Lexa meant something more when she invited Clarke to say with her in Polis? Was there some…ritual, some tradition associated with that? Like the Ark’s way of marriage? This should alarm Clarke, this sudden change, this influx of possibilities, but instead she feels overwhelmingly calm. She would like to be with Lexa too.

Lexa reaches for Clarke’s hand, urging her forward, leading them ahead of the now departing others. They walk swiftly so that they are far in front of those behind, Octavia and Indra several steps behind.

“If I extend this offer to you,” Lexa begins, “I believe it to be only fair that I see where you live.”

Clarke glances to Lexa, parallel to her. She then glances away to see their footsteps are in sync, noting that if she listens closely enough she can hear the way they leave traces of themselves almost as one behind in the ground as the sky looks down, the stars preparing the emerge and find their way to Lexa’s eyes in which they will evoke a thousand new colors. “I live right here,” Clarke comments and it’s not quite husky but it is so convincing it is as if she has said it many times before inside the privacy of her own head. Maybe she has. “With you, Lexa.”

Clarke can detect the humble closed smile dancing its way across Lexa’s lips, gentle and perhaps challenging to find if not searched for, but Clarke can always find it. She likes to think it is she who invites it. “It has been settled then,” Lexa quickly adds, hesitant to revel too much in Clarke’s eager compliment or confession or whatever it is that Lexa can’t quite place, beyond thrilled to confirm and anticipate. “We shall leave for Arkadia tomorrow, and Octavia can greet us at the gate before she must join my people at the Mountain.”

“Aren’t they our people now?” Clarke corrects with a hint of mockery but also a decent bit of hope.

“I would like them to be,” Lexa smiles again, and this time Clarke can trace it all the way to her eyes where rivers of joy flow at the edges.

“What does that mean?” Clarke tests, forgetting to keep her voice down, forgetting that she was ever convinced that she could hide her feeling for Lexa from her people, from herself.

“Whatever you would like it to, Clarke Kom Skaikru. I very much look forward to meeting more of your people tomorrow, immersing myself in how they live. Even for just a while. You have done the same with my own.”

Clarke nods. Children in the street stop to exclaim kind greetings to their Heda, clearly overtook by admiration. Lexa, if she knows anything of this admiration, doesn’t seem arrogant to it, bending to look at the children, to laugh with them as if they are her own. Men and women acknowledge her with respectful words in Trigedasleng that Clarke has come to know are of appreciation, gratitude, amazement. All Clarke ever receives when walking into Arkadia is a reprimand from Abby about being gone for far too long or a joke by Raven about taking orders from the Commander. Clarke likes to reassure herself that she is seamlessly keeping…exchanges unrelated to politics with Lexa hidden, but she knows Raven is much too clever not to figure it out.

“You’re right,” Clarke removes herself from her thoughts to respond. “Maybe it will change how you think about us,” Clarke repeats the words Lexa once said to her, very aware of Lexa’s small breath inward, clearly recalling the events surrounding those words, before and after. “I know we haven’t completely earned your trust yet, Commander,” Clarke says cautiously, as Octavia and Indra are now back in earshot. “But maybe my people will show you that we aren’t so different, that we have more in common than we could possibly imagine. We need each other, don’t we? Maybe they can show you that?” Clarke whispers with conviction, completely oblivious to the weight of her words. She is sentimental, but she is also a great strategist, and so this strive for peace is no attempt to cajole Lexa or acknowledge what they have.

But it is what Lexa says next that causes Clarke to realize, finally, that life is about more than just surviving, yes, but to survive, she must have Lexa, always, no matter where she is. Lexa, suddenly aware that she will never again turn her back, pauses, unconcerned with the whole trail of others behind her. It is no longer about her people, or Clarke’s people—their people—it’s so much more than that. “You already have,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please, please, please comment if you' like more. My tumblr is flawedwonderwall if you'd like to get into touch with me there!!


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